Land Mine
by MystryGAB
Summary: This is an alternate take on Bombshells based on the prompt "What if House was the one to break-up with Cuddy?"
1. Chapter 1

_This is an alternate take on the ending of Bombshells (and perhaps some of the common conclusions surrounding the dream meanings). It's based on a prompt from Iane Casey. I hope you like it._

_Some of the lines in the original scene were taken from the episode itself, but then in it totally AU._

_Disclaimer: I don't own House, a tragic fact, indeed._

* * *

**Chapter 1: Bombshell**

Cuddy fought the darkness that had been holding her captive and reached for the light of consciousness. Her body felt heavy; her responses were sluggish and delayed. She struggled to clear the haze in her mind.

_Anesthesia. Kidney cancer._

She groaned as she remembered, and fought the resistance of her eyelids so she could focus on her surroundings, on her condition.

"Hi."

_House._

It felt like her head dropped in his direction instead of turning gracefully.

"Hi," she whispered. Her mouth was dry.

House put down the medical journal he was reading and leaned his arm against the rail at the side of the bed.

His beard was thicker than he usually wore it; his eyes were tired.

_He stayed with me._

She felt the relief and calm assurance wash over her at the knowledge that her dreams were not real.

"Guess who doesn't have cancer?"

Cuddy felt the increase in her heartbeat.

"Me," he said. Cuddy closed her eyes.

"Also you," he quickly added. "Actually, you for sure. Me…"

"House," she stopped him, looking at him expectantly. Her need for answers far surpassed her amusement.

"The tumor was benign," he said. "An oncocytoma. They cut it out. You'll be fine."

Cuddy frowned. "Then what was in my lungs?"

"Once they ruled out cancer, I remembered that your mom was allergic to antibiotics," he said. "So, I had them test your blood, and your IGE levels were through the roof…Because the lung masses were an allergic reaction."

His smirk held his trademark arrogance, but his expression grew soft when he saw the comprehension in her expression. "Now that you're off the antibiotics, your lungs should clear right up."

Cuddy smiled. She was going to be okay. She had more time: time with Rachel, time with House. She had time to build their family.

"I brought you something," he said, fishing a small, clear jar from his pocket. "Say hello to your tumor."

"Ugh!" Cuddy groaned and weakly pushed his hand away. She may have regained consciousness, but the effects of the anesthesia still weighed her down.

House turned to put the bottle on the side table. "Wait," she called, and took it from his hand. He grinned, knowing she couldn't resist studying the tumor that had trapped her in fear and turned her world upside down. His eyes grew pained as he watched her study what had become to him the symbol of her strength, and of his weakness.

She was so beautiful, so brave. And he was…

"There are so many things that I could be afraid of," she suddenly said, her eyes growing cloudy.

House knew what was coming. Of course he knew. He'd set it all in motion when he chose to be so self-absorbed when she needed him the most.

"Most of the time, I manage to lock them up behind doors," she said, and shrugged. "But this happens… all those doors just burst open."

Cuddy thought about her worry and fears, about the conflicting feelings she'd experienced when House hadn't been there, and her relief when he did show up. She thought about her dreams, and nightmares. They were so weird, and yet so telling.

She wanted to talk to him about it, to tell him what she'd learned about herself, and what she'd figured out about their relationship. But House had a faraway look in his eyes.

At first she thought he was having an epiphany about his case. She'd long since grown accustomed to these moments when he'd disconnect into another realm of consciousness. This was different. His eyes were glassy and sad. No, more than sad. Pained. Tormented. His brow was furrowed and his jaw tight. He was barely holding it together.

"House?" Her voice quivered with worry.

"You shouldn't have to lock them up," he said. "You should be able to share your fears and your pain."

This wasn't just a philosophical response. Something was very wrong.

"I can't do this," he whispered.

Cuddy reached for his hand. "What?"

He watched as their fingers so naturally entwined.

She watched as something broke inside him. She was suddenly very alert: anxious and afraid.

Cuddy squeezed his hand and pulled gently, urging him to look at her, to come closer so they could talk about what was bothering him.

House resisted. He pulled his hand away from hers and stood, stepping away from the bed as he stared down at her. His eyes were wide: little boy lost.

"I can't be who you need me to be," he barely croaked out the words.

Cuddy stared at him, stunned and confused.

"What are you talking about?"

"You need a man who will be there for you," he said.

"You are here," she pointed out.

"No, I'm not," he bit out, running his hand through his hair in apparent self-recrimination.

"House…"

"You should have never left Lucas." There was an edge to his voice that frightened her. "You should have stayed with the guy you could depend on. You should have run for your life and not even tried to rescue the guy who always lets you down."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, gasping in pain as she tried to sit up. "I didn't love Lucas."

"Be still," he instructed harshly. "You're going to tear your stitches. You need to rest."

"And you need to tell me what's going on."

He wouldn't look at her. Instead, he grabbed his cane and hobbled toward the door.

"I'll tell them to bring you some pain meds."

_What the Hell?_

He was leaving. She knew it instinctively. He was leaving her.

_Son of a bitch…_

"House," she cried out. "Talk to me."

"There's nothing to say," he mumbled.

"Really?" She couldn't decide if she was more furious or frantic. "You're not going to talk about it? You're just going to leave?"

House paused, and Cuddy silently pleaded for him to hear her, to stay with her and tell her what had happened, what had him so spooked.

"It's better this way."

Cuddy felt her world shatter. The tears welled up in her eyes even as the anger began to burn in her chest.

"You're really doing this? Now?"

House finally looked at her.

"You'll be better off without me."

"What? You think breaking up with me when I'm just out of surgery is an act of kindness?" she hissed. "What kind of man are you? What kind of selfish, heartless...Ouch!"

Cuddy gripped her abdomen as pain shot through her.

"I'm sorry," House said.

She didn't hear him. She didn't see him lean heavily against the nurses' station as he ordered pain medication for her. She didn't see the tears he fought as he staggered down the corridor like a man to his death. And as the nurse injected the IV, she soon didn't feel anything either.

#######

"Alright. I put the rest of the soup in the freezer so you'll have some for later."

Cuddy slowly sat up so Julia could sit down on the sofa beside her.

"Thanks for everything," Cuddy said, her voice still weak and quivering from crying.

"I wish I could do more," she answered, wrapping her arm around her sister and pulling her close. "I don't know what to say. I just don't understand."

"I don't either." Cuddy sniffled and reached for a tissue. She'd been going over it in her head, but couldn't make sense of it. "He's always been there. Always hovering and taking care of things even when I didn't know it."

Julia nodded in agreement. She'd never been a big fan of Greg House, but he'd always been very protective in his own way. And as frustrated as her sister got with House, it was clear she leaned on him and depended on him as a steady, if unpredictable, constant in her life. It was just part of their dynamic. She'd stopped trying to understand it; she just accepted it because the love between them was real. Everyone could see that.

"He still hasn't returned your calls?"

"No," she said, reaching for the mug of soup Julia had brought to her earlier. "He won't."

He had left her. She still couldn't quite believe it.

"He might," Julia tried to encourage her. "Maybe he just needs time. You both went through a lot…"

"He thinks he's doing what's best for me," Cuddy said. That was the one thing she understood. He had terrible timing, and she had no idea what was behind his thinking, but she was certain he was trying to do the "right" thing. And that's why she knew he wouldn't return her calls. He'd determined he was a liability and had walked away - just like he'd done with Stacy – without accepting argument and without looking back. What made her more certain? He'd done it when she was too weak to do anything to stop him, when he'd have plenty of time to self-destruct.

_I hope Wilson found him._

She'd asked him - begged him actually - to find House and stay with him. She may not know what had happened, but it was clear House was in crisis and would need his friend. But Wilson was furious with him, had been furious with him throughout the entire ordeal. Him walking away for her as soon as she was out of surgery only made matters worse.

"Here, let me," Julia said, reaching for the empty mug.

"I got it," Cuddy said and placed it on the coffee table. She needed to keep moving or the soreness would be overwhelming.

"Are you gonna tell mom?" she suddenly asked.

Julia frowned. "So she can show up here to take care of you by harassing the housekeeper and criticizing your bathrobe? Yeah. I think I'm gonna wait a few years."

Cuddy smiled at her sister, though it didn't meet her eyes. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me, too," Julia said as she brushed some of the hair away from Cuddy's face. "I'm going to make the spare room bed and stay the night."

"You don't…"

"I don't have to, but I want to," she stopped any argument. "Oh, and I moved your sleeping pills back in the medicine cabinet because I just worry. Rachel always calls them candy. And who can resist candy?"

_Who can resist candy?_

Cuddy froze, a flash from her dreams connecting with a flash of reality.

"Most kids do think medicine is candy," Julia continued to chatter as she stood and headed for the kitchen. "I guess that's why childproof caps were created. Rachel is a stubborn one, though. It doesn't matter how much House corrects her, she still calls it candy. Maybe she…"

"I need to go," Cuddy interrupted. Julia turned to look at her, startled to find her already standing and putting on her coat. "Can you watch Rachel a little longer?"

#######

"You took Vicodin."

House had barely opened the door, and now looked at her with sad, shamed eyes.

"When you came to my hospital room that night, you were stoned." Her tone was more matter-of-fact than accusatory.

House looked down, but she'd already caught a glimpse of his tortured, shamed blue eyes. He gripped the door knob tightly. "How did you know?"

"How did I not know?" she said. "How did I let myself forget for months that you're an addict? How did you let me forget? And how could you not give us the chance to work through this?"

She pushed past him into his apartment. "You're such an idiot."

Cuddy came to an abrupt halt as she spotted the man standing by the chair.

"Hello," he said.

She was surprised to see anyone here. Once she'd realized House had relapsed, she'd had visions of him passed out on the floor, or worse. She had been relieved when he answered the door.

"Hello."

"You must be Dr. Cuddy," the man extended his hand in greeting.

"Yes."

Cuddy automatically shook his hand. "And you are?"

"Nolan," House said from behind her as he firmly closed the door. She turned to look at him, astonished.

Cuddy knew House had walked away from his therapy with Nolan. He'd been frustrated and disillusioned; he'd called him a "faith healer." Even when she'd pointed out the ways therapy had actually helped him, and could continue to help him, House had maintained it was all bullshit.

"_I found happiness without my head being shrunk. And by head, I mean…"_

"He's here to save me from a fate, or the evils of time and space, or from myself," House said. "It's hard to say."

"I'm here as a sponsor," Nolan calmly corrected House. "You called me because you want to save yourself."

"Yes," House agreed with obvious sarcasm. "That sounds like me."

"How bad is it?" Cuddy asked. She perceived the hint of rancor in his response to Nolan and knew House was in the midst of reinforcing walls, desperate to hide and deny.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded. "You shouldn't even be out of the hospital."

"I checked myself out," she said. "Now, how bad is it?"

"What moron let you check yourself out so soon after…"

"House!"

He glared at her. She didn't back down. Nolan watched the showdown with interest. This was the first time he'd seen the two of them together. The first time he'd been with House since piecing together the important role Dr. Cuddy played in his life.

"I relapsed," he bit. "What do you think?"

Nolan was a bit surprised that he caved so quickly, even if his tone was biting and belittling, and his answer vague. Dr. Cuddy appeared unaffected.

"How many did you take?"

"What does it matter?"

"Seriously? You're going to be an ass?" Cuddy tossed her purse onto the desk and glared at him. "You broke up with me when I was just coming out of recovery. The least you can do is answer a few questions…Like why you didn't CHOOSE me."

Nolan saw House flinch and knew Dr. Cuddy had hit her mark. He didn't understand the history and meaning behind the words, but he could feel the tension that filled the air around them.

"You should be in bed," House mumbled, looking down at his feet like a shamed little boy.

"Yes, I should," she agreed, crossing her arms at her chest and glaring at him with fiery impatience.

_So this is Dr. Cuddy. _

Nolan was mesmerized as he watched House look away, guilty and ashamed. He recognized that look, the fragility and vulnerability. He'd always had to fight to reach that level during their therapy sessions; House had such a hardened, sarcastic veneer. Yet, Dr. Cuddy had broken through that shell in one shot.

"How many did you take?"

"Just one."

Cuddy released a sigh of relief. The relapse wasn't good, but it could be worse.

"So, there's no need to detox?" She turned to ask Nolan.

He shook his head.

"I'm on the tail end of a 72 hour watch," House said. Nolan looked at him, surprised and curious where he was going with this.

"You're just in time for the appetizer portion. Nolan was just about to slice me up into bite size pieces."

Ah. House was fighting to maintain his defenses. To say something and nothing at all. Judging from the hard look she gave him, Cuddy wasn't having it.

"I'll grab my knife."

Nolan wanted to chuckle. They were quite a pair.

House shifted his weight and unconsciously reached for his right thigh.

"You should have done that months ago."

Nolan's eyes widened. It usually took longer for House to drop a bomb like that, to offer a line that would lead the way through the maze of his thought process.

Cuddy released a sigh, and her indignation waned at the speed of her breath.

"Why?"

House rolled his eyes in frustration.

"Why not?"

Cuddy stepped toward him, demanding his attention, demanding answers.

"I asked you first."

_Adult children._

Nolan shook his head, but remained quiet. He knew there was a lot he could learn by watching them, and Dr. Cuddy seemed to have a firm grasp on the situation. He would wait and see how things developed.

"Why, House?" she repeated the question. "Tell me what you did that would give me a reason to cut you out of my life. And then tell me why you're walking away from me when I need you the most…when YOU need ME the most."

All good questions, Nolan thought.

House shrugged, averting his eyes. The resistance in him seemed to dissolve as he gripped his leg and mumbled.

"What?" she asked, demanding he speak louder.

"You don't need me." His voice was still soft, but his words were clear.

Cuddy paused, examining him with the trained eye of a doctor and a woman intimately familiar with the man she loves.

"Says who?"

"You," he said, the break in his voice evidence of the raw emotions coursing through him. "You need a man you can count on, one who'll be there for you."

"You are…"

"No," he insisted, stepping away from her. "I'm not. I lie when you need the truth. I risk my life for patients and bail on you when you get awards and need dates for your donor parties. You need a man who can share your life…and your pain. Who can be with you when you're sick."

Clearly he'd thought this through, had catalogued his faults and failures in what he believed was the perfect DDX.

Cuddy dropped onto the sofa as if she were suddenly too weak to stand. She'd been dreaming throughout the ordeal, and through them she'd come to see the weakness in their relationship and where she'd been going at it wrong. She'd seen how she had romanced it, denying important truths and trying to control a vision that had nothing to do with who they were or even what they wanted. House had spent this time of crisis diagnosing their relationship too, in his own way. He'd listed the symptoms, followed the trail of failed treatments and determined he was the infection. An infection he was ready to eradicate.

Nolan considered his words. He had a lot of questions, but as he watched Cuddy process and filter what House had just revealed, he thought it better to wait and see how she would approach it. She was key to his healing. She always had been.

"I made you feel that way." It wasn't a question. There was guilt in her voice.

"No," House said. "You're perfect. This is not your fault."

Nolan was struck by how easily House absolved her of any faults in what was happening between them. It was curious how he seemed to blur the line between taking responsibility and accepting blame.

Cuddy looked up at him. "But, you were there for me, House," she said. "You're always there for me."

House tried to interrupt, but Cuddy stopped him. "You hide and hover and stalk," she said. "You steal medical files and push tests through the system. You lurk in hallways and send your fellows to check on me. You do your thing from a distance until you can't anymore, and then you show up."

"After I've taken enough drugs so I can't feel anything," he reminded her, turning away and leaning on the piano for support.

_If you take the pill, you don't deserve her. If you secretly take the pill, you don't deserve anyone._

Both Cuddy and Nolan frowned as his eyes squeezed shut and his head jerked slightly from side to side, as if warding off a memory.

"I don't deserve anyone," he mumbled.

_Interesting._

Nolan was about to press him, to work through the thoughts that took him to this place of disgrace and self-loathing, but Cuddy spoke first.

"What? Because you feel fear, you don't deserve love? You're not allowed to be human?"

"I'm a drug addict," House spoke harshly, his voice tinged with anger and self-contempt.

"Yes, you are," Cuddy didn't pull any punches. "What does that have to do with it?"

His eyes locked with hers.

"People don't deserve to get sick, or raped, or molested, any more than they deserve to be rich and famous…or loved," she said. "We don't get what we deserve; we get what we get."

House recognized his own words. He hated when they came back to bite him.

"Cuddy…"

"No," she stopped him. "You don't get to walk away from me based on lies and insecurities."

"I'm not being insecure," he argued. "I'm looking at the facts."

"SOME of the fact," she said. "Not all of them."

House frowned.

She nervously looked down at her clasped hands before taking a deep breath and locking her eyes with his. "You don't think I feel like I'M the one who doesn't deserve YOU?"

House stared at her, shocked and confused. She shook her head, amazed he could be so brilliant, yet so clueless.

"I've never been happier than I've been with you," she said. "And yet I complain and control and make you feel like you constantly need to do better. I don't know why you've even stayed with me."

House swallowed hard, staring at her with a love and tenderness that gave Nolan pause.

But then he spoke.

"I'm a masochist."

Nolan rolled his eyes, frustrated with his response. But Cuddy chuckled.

Nolan felt the change in the air as Cuddy came to stand in front of House. He could feel the invisible force field that surrounded them, insulating them. Nothing else in the world existed, especially not him.

"I want to be with you, House," Cuddy said. "I want this to work. What do you want?"

His blue eyes glistened as they traced the lines of her face, cherishing her, worshipping her.

Nolan shifted nervously. He felt like an intruder, a Peeping-Tom.

"You," he said. "I've always wanted you."

She ran her hand along his jaw and cupped his cheek. His eyes closed at her touch, and he seemed to breathe in the essence of her.

"Then be with me," she pleaded.

His eyes opened to gaze at her in gut-wrenching sadness. "I took the pill," he said.

"I know," she shrugged. "That's not as important as why."

Nolan smiled. That was all he needed to here.

"I'm going to leave you two, alone."

The stunned looks on their faces as they turned to look at him verified his thought: they'd forgotten he was even in the room.

"What happened to the 72 hour watch?"

"You're still on it," Nolan said. "But I think you two need some time to talk."

"No, she needs to go home," House insisted.

"Is there something I should be doing?" Cuddy said, ignoring House. She wasn't standing down.

"You seem to be doing fine," Nolan answered. "Work through it one step at a time. "

He turned to look at House. "You have your assignment and I'm just a phone call away."

"You suck as a therapist."

Nolan smiled. "You suck as a patient," he said. "You have an appointment with me in two days, House. You should consider bringing Dr. Cuddy with you."

"You think you'll do better at couples therapy?"

Nolan turned to Cuddy and handed her his card. "Call me if you need anything," he said.

"Thank you."

"She won't!" House called.

"Good!" Nolan responded over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.

House turned to find Cuddy shaking her head as she glared at him.

"You are such a jerk."

House blinked. "I know," he said.

_She's here. She shouldn't be, but she's here._

She was weak and tired, and he suspected quite uncomfortable, but she wasn't going to back down. She was here for the long haul. She was here for him.

"You're pig-headed," he pointed out. "Go sit down and I'll make you some tea."

She squinted at him suspiciously. "You're going to make me tea? Should I be afraid you're tapping into a hidden stash?"

"Nolan already searched," he said. "But I'll submit to a strip search if that will make you feel better."

"Talk first; Cavity search later."

House smirked and took her hand, pulling her with him to the sofa.

"Sit," he instructed, reached for the hem of her shirt.

"Hey!" She grabbed his wrists.

"Give me credit for better foreplay," he said. "If you're going to be my watch dog, I need to know you're in good health."

"Now you're concerned?"

He caught her eye and she felt the gravity of his stare. "I've always been concerned."

Of course he had. She knew that.

She watched as he removed the bandage to examine the wound drain and surrounding tissue. "We need to replace the dressing," he said.

"I brought what I'd need."

"Of course you did."

Cuddy smirked. "It's in my purse."

He didn't check her purse. Instead, he retrieved his medicine bag from the closet and brought it over to the coffee table.

"You know what else is in your purse?" he asked as he pulled the supplies he would need out of the bag.

Her brow lifted in question before a light of understanding hit her eyes. "You think I brought pain meds with me."

"Didn't you?"

Cuddy didn't know whether to be offended that he thought she'd be so careless or proud that he was so cautious.

"Why give you a cavity search when I could find meds in my purse?"

"Maybe it's not about the drugs," he said. "Maybe you just like to see me bent over."

"I think you've got that backwards, Big Guy," she taunted, her brow arched. "You're the one who likes me bent over."

House grinned lecherously. "I will never deny that."

Her stomach fluttered as that familiar spark passed between them. It was always there, no matter what was going on in life, no matter how bad things got.

"I didn't bring my pain meds."

Sexual attraction wasn't enough to sustain them. There were real issues that needed to be addressed. Getting side tracked wouldn't do either of them any good. She couldn't let them fall into a comfortable, teasing conversation.

House frowned. "You're going to need them."

"I need you more."

His eyes glazed with tenderness, and perhaps a bit of guilt, as he turned his attention to the bandage.

"When did you breakout of the hospital?"

"This morning," she said. "I couldn't stay there any longer."

"It's pretty bad when even the administrator can't tolerate the hospital staff."

"You wouldn't return my calls."

He lowered her shirt and brought the blanket up around her.

"I'll go make that tea."

"We've got to talk about this, House."

"Yeah, because talking makes a difference," he said sarcastically as he stood to return his medicine bag to the closet.

"Doesn't it?"

"No," he said. "It will make us feel all of the pain and guilt and screwed up feelings that we try to hide, and then we'll cry and feel bad, but talking doesn't change anything. It doesn't make it easier and it doesn't fix anything. At the end of all the words, I'll still be me and you'll still be you."

"And yet you called Nolan, who was sure to make you talk."

He didn't respond. He puttered around in the kitchen, presumably making her tea, but he was clearly avoiding the inevitable conversation. It was an ironic approach, given he was probably already anticipating and acting out the possible scenarios in his head.

_Words don't matter; actions matter._

Oh, his actions mattered. He'd left her. She suspected those actions didn't provide the result he anticipated or even wanted. Words would have helped. They would have set the parameters, built a ground work, and redirected the action. Words did matter. And if they didn't, why did he try so hard to avoid them?

House handed her the cup of tea and plopped down on the couch beside her, his arms crossed at the chest as he petulantly stared into the distance.

"If you're going to sulk, at least make yourself useful while you do it," she said and placed her bare feet in his lap.

"Your therapy would be better received if you asked me to massage your naked body."

"This isn't therapy."

"It could be."

"I don't want to be your therapist."

"What do you want to be?"

She waited until he looked at her. "Yours."

House swallowed hard, obviously affected by her words and the heart behind them.

"That would also involve you naked."

He was trying so hard keep that vulnerability at bay, to hide behind the walls he'd come to trust to protect him.

"Not this time," she said, determined to keep a steady, but light pressure on the subject. "What's your assignment?"

He frowned.

"Nolan said you had an assignment," she explained her question. "What's your assignment?"

"Research," he said. "I'm supposed to list all the problems, failures, unresolved issues, and unexpressed emotions that led me to this point."

"What have you got so far?"

"My girlfriend was dying."

"That's it?"

He shrugged. "It was everything at the time."

She couldn't argue that. In the middle of the crisis, nothing else seemed to exist.

"What should you have done?"

"You're really going to do this?" he sighed. "Play psychologist? Walk me through the twelve steps like a real sponsor?"

"I'm not your sponsor; I'm your girlfriend," she said. "At least I hope I am."

She looked at him pointedly. "Am I still your girlfriend?"

"I don't know why you want to be." House looked away from her, staring into space yet again. He was in full blown brooding mode. This was going to be a long night.

"I'll try to break it down for you," she said. "But first we're going to do what you should have done in the first place. We're going to talk about it."

He rolled his eyes.

"Okay," she sighed. "Then, I'm going to talk, and if everything goes to shit I'll at least know I tried and won't torment myself with all the things I didn't do."

He continued to scowl.

She nudged him with her foot.

"Talk or massage," she said.

"Don't you mean talk AND massage?"

"See? You CAN learn."

He glowered at her, but she could tell he was loosening up. He began to massage the arch and ball of her foot where he knew she carried the most tension. Cuddy burrowed deeper into the couch and watched him.

His brow was furrowed as he concentrated heavily on the movement of his fingers.

"When did you call him?" She asked.

"When I left you."

"Why then?"

"That's generally when you call a sponsor," he said. "When you're about to relapse, or in the midst of relapsing."

"You said you only took one pill."

"I did."

"That was before the surgery."

"So what? I took the pill and called my sponsor. That's it."

"When did Nolan become your sponsor?"

"When I called him."

"So he hasn't been your sponsor?"

"You know he hasn't," he bit. "I've never even attended NA."

"So you took a Vicodin, came to the hospital and sat with me through the night," she ticked off the events on her fingers. "Walked me through pre-surgery, then waited through the surgery itself, and then through recovery until I came out of the anesthesia, all without taking another pill. Why? Why was there suddenly a threat of relapse?"

"I'd already relapsed!"

"You took a pill," she argued. "Which granted, should have been an anxiety med prescribed by a doctor, but you took a pill to help you push through a terrifying time. We do that for patients all the time. This was different."

"Yes," he agreed. "Because I'm a drug addict."

Cuddy stared at him, but her mind was focusing on the details running through her mind. House shifted uncomfortably. He recognized that look.

"You didn't call him about the Vicodin."

House stood abruptly and paced over to the fireplace, leaning against the mantel as his right hand gripped his thigh. His neck was flushed and his jaw tight. It was clear his leg pain had just increased, triggered by emotional stress, no doubt. First, the health scare, then the relapse, then he break-up…

Cuddy sat up straighter as the pieces began to fall into place.

_I can't do this._

She remembered his words, his expression.

_I don't deserve anyone._

Such guilt and shame. But House didn't do guilt. He did…

"Oh, God," she exhaled sharply.

House turned to look at her, eyes wide and nervous.

"This 72 hour watch isn't about the relapse at all," she said. "This is a suicide watch."

...TBC


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you all for the wonderful reviews. You guys rock! Hope you enjoy._

_Disclaimer: Still not connected the the TV show or the characters.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 2: Land Mines**

"_This 72 hour watch isn't about the relapse at all," she said. "This is a suicide watch."_

The words echoed between them, heavy and reverberating in the air. They bounced off the walls of his mind; they pierced the walls of her heart.

"Why, House?" Her voice trembled.

His lips were parted, needing the extra air as his heartbeat increased and the emotions he'd been hiding fisted through his protective walls. He felt a frantic need to run or fight, to rage against the injustice of life, against her. She was everything right in his world, and everything that could destroy him.

"Why?" She asked again.

He closed his eyes, holding the lids tightly closed as he willed himself to calm down, to not do anything stupid. She was here. She wanted to be with him in spite of the relapse, in spite of walking out on her. There was still a chance.

_For once in your life, don't blow it._

"House?"

She was close, too close. While he was fighting demons and seeking escape, she had quietly come to stand with him. Her presence was a comfort, and a pressure. He couldn't take the pressure.

"It's not a suicide watch," he forced out, glaring at her with red-rimmed, desperate eyes as he grabbed hold of a safe and familiar defense. "It's more like a 'don't drain your bank account on booze and whores in an attempt to forget your pathetic existence' watch."

The slant of her head told him she recognized his sarcasm as the defensive maneuver he'd intended. The veil that dropped over her worried eyes told him she wasn't backing down, but was preparing her own defenses as well.

"Oh that's good," she said dryly. "No crisis at all, just an invitation to an imagined orgy. What a relief."

"Not quite imagined," he said.

She shook her head and crossed her arms, unconsciously protecting herself from the impending hurts.

"What are you doing, House?" She asked, sadly. "You'd rather belittle me, and make me feel cheap? You'd rather make a mockery of our relationship than actually give us a chance to work through this?"

He didn't want to hurt her. He never wanted to hurt her, and yet…

"I'm not stupid," she said. Her words were strong, but a tear escaped the pool in her eye and traveled slowly down her cheek. He felt something rip in his chest. "Your sarcasm holds a bit of truth. That's probably how you would kill yourself - in a fit of ugly debauchery and drunkenness, trying to numb yourself to all the good things you're so afraid to feel and accept in your life. You'd drown yourself in whatever would make you feel anything except what you actually need to feel, until the self-loathing took over and you did something careless and stupid and life-threatening."

He thought he might be bleeding internally for the amount of pain and weakness that exploded in his chest and down through his abdomen. He felt sick at the image she painted, the very real image of who he'd be if he lost her, of who he tried not to be when he was with her.

Cuddy's hand came to grip her abdomen as she stared at him. "Don't you see?" she asked. "You're only going to get past that by going through it. I know its cliché and it's the type of jargon you hate, but it's true. You can't keep running from the pain, or the shame, and whatever else is tormenting you. You have to feel it or you're never going to really experience the love, or the happiness you want."

"I'm trying," his voice pleaded with her to believe him. "I came to be with you. I didn't do anything. I called Nolan…"

"You left me."

"I didn't…" he fumbled for words to explain, to justify, to make sense of what he'd done. "I just thought…I…"

"You thought because you'd relapsed, you didn't deserve me," she said.

House gulped. She did understand.

"I'm here now," he said weakly.

"No, you're not," she said. "You're fighting very hard not to be here with me. All this self-loathing and sarcasm and deflecting proves that! Otherwise you'd tell me what happened and cut the bullshit."

House heard the breathy tension in her voice and saw the shift in her stance as she struggled for balance.

"What do you want me to say?"

"The truth," she sighed. "Tell me what happened. Talk to me."

"I relapsed."

"So you keep saying, but that's not the point."

She ran her hand along her forehead, trying to push through the headache that was forming, and the exhaustion that was creeping over her. She tried to ignore the increasing pain in side and abdomen, but didn't know how much longer she could stand.

His arm slipped around her, pulling her against his side for support, and she looked at him, startled by the sudden move and the gentleness of his touch.

"You need to lie down," he said.

"No," she shook her head.

"Cuddy, you have to rest."

"No," she continued to resist. "We need to talk. We need to work through…"

"I couldn't save you."

Cuddy froze.

"I was sure it was nothing," he continued, his sudden declaration becoming a confession. "I was worried and afraid, but I thought they'd run the tests, and I'd run a DDX like I always do. We'd be able to fix it. Everything would be fine."

Cuddy had turned in his arms as he spoke, and now gripped his biceps as he held her up.

"But the masses on your lungs meant…" he shook his head firmly, resisting the thought and memories.

_Metastasized kidney cancer._ He'd thought she was dead.

"I couldn't save you," he said. "I'm a selfish, useless cripple, who has no business being in a relationship with a woman like you. All I have is my mind…My skill…"

He looked down at the space between them, bowing his head in shame as he fought the tears that were threatening, tears he'd denied throughout the whole ordeal.

Cuddy's hand touched his jaw, urging him to look at her.

"I couldn't save you," he said.

But then her knees buckled and House caught her.

"I'm going to be sick," she whispered.

House scooped her into his arms, ignoring the pain in his leg and the tears that managed to escape down his cheek, as he hobbled down the hallway he determined to take care of her. This time he wouldn't fail.

#######

"Take this."

Cuddy sat up in the bed, looking down at the pills he handed her.

"It's the medicine from your car," he explained when her eyes widened in recognition. "It may not have been in your purse, but no way would you have left home without having access to it."

She sighed.

"Be frustrated later," he said. "Take."

She took the water he offered and downed the pills. He'd taken her to the bathroom and placed a cold compress to her head and neck until the nausea passed, then helped her change into one of his t-shirts before tucking her in bed. When he'd said 'I'll be right back,' she hadn't even bothered to think about what he was doing. She'd been too busy trying to will the pain and sickness to pass.

"Thank you," she smiled weakly as she handed him the empty water glass.

He turned away.

"Don't leave," she called.

House turned back to her, a shy, tender smile on his face. "I'm not," he said.

She watched as he slipped into the bathroom (it sounded like he placed the glass on the sink) then turned the lights off as he returned.

He stood at the side of the bed, looking down at her. "Can I join you?"

Cuddy was surprised by the question. Did he really think she wouldn't want him with her?

"I hope you will."

The room was only slightly illuminated by the glow of the moon and distant streetlights creeping through the slit in the curtains, so she could still see him in the shadows. She watched him change into his pajama bottoms and swap out his t-shirt for an older one before crawling into bed beside her.

She was lying on her side to take some of the pressure off the wound. House curled up behind her, spooning her, surrounding her with his warmth and strength. She'd missed this. It had only been a few days since they'd been together, but she felt it had been a lifetime.

_I couldn't save you._

She thought of his anguished words and what they meant. What could she say? It wasn't cancer. He hadn't needed to save her. She was going to be okay. But that didn't change what he'd experienced at the time, it didn't remove the blow he'd taken emotionally, any more than it changed what she'd gone through and how it had altered her.

She took the hand that was caressing her arm and pulled it to her chest. "I love you," she said as their fingers entwined above her breasts.

He grazed his chin along the curve of her shoulder before kissing it lightly.

"I know."

She glanced over her shoulder. "Do you?"

His eyes searched hers. She looked scared, and confused…but hopeful.

_You don't appreciate how good you've got it._

He heard his father taunting him. But maybe he was right. Maybe he did spend too much time dwelling on the pain and the loss, anticipating the worst and denying the present, to the point of creating his own failed destiny.

She just wanted him to talk to her, to be with her. Why was it so damn hard?

"I was having these dreams," she said. "Weird dreams. Like TV sitcoms and musicals."

Cuddy remembered the dream that had House and Wilson raising Rachel. It may have been a parody, mocking the train wreck of parenting that may ensue if House were in charge, but it made her consider the decision to have Julia assigned as her daughter's guardian. Was it really what she wanted, to fall back on the "right" choice, the one that would provide the most normal childhood? House was an extraordinary man, with extraordinary views and approaches to life. Was that really so terrible? Rachel would have an uncommon life, with ups and downs for sure, but with passion and truth.

House also knew her and loved her more than anyone in the world. Why wouldn't she want Rachel to be with a man who would keep her memory alive?

She didn't know if House would want the responsibility. He hadn't wanted children in the past, and they hadn't talked about it since they'd started dating, but maybe it was something to consider. Who knows, maybe Rachel would give him a purpose, something to hold on to if the worst were to happen.

It was something she wanted to talk with him about. Later. After they worked through this crisis.

For now, there was something else he needed to know.

"I think my subconscious was telling me I've been an idiot."

Her random declaration pulled him from his dark thoughts.

"It picked a hell of a time to point that out."

Cuddy smiled. "Shame knows no bounds."

He blinked, picking up on the subtle jab.

"I realize I've been approaching our relationship with just a continuation on the delusions that kept me with Lucas for so long."

"You'll understand if I don't want to hear about Lucas when we're in bed together."

She chuckled.

"It's like there's this vision of how things are supposed to be that keeps pushing its way into my mind," she said. "But it's not even what I want. It's like I'm brainwashed. I keep working to create what fits in those guidelines as if that's the only way to be happy. But what's normal and 'acceptable' isn't what makes me happy."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Cuddy twisted in his arms, lying on her back so she could look at him.

"I've been a controlling bitch," she said.

"Oh, that!"

She nudged him with her elbow. "I'm serious," she wanted him to understand. "I've been going about this as if we each have our roles and we have to follow the script. You have to do one thing and I have to do another, and then we'll have a happy-ever-after. Meanwhile I've managed to suck all the fun out of our relationship."

His hand had slipped beneath the hem of the t-shirt, and now his fingers traced a circle around her nipple.

"I don't know," he said. "I think we have fun."

She rolled her eyes. "Sex is never our problem."

"You can say that again."

She laughed, but then stared at him pointedly.

"I told you I wanted uncommon, but I keep doing things to make our relationship common," she said.

"Maybe you deserve better."

"Can you please take 'deserve' out of your vocabulary?"

"I'm just saying there's nothing wrong with wanting to get your needs met," he said.

"As long as they're my needs and not what someone else thinks my needs should be."

"That doesn't sound like you." For once he wasn't teasing when he said it.

She smiled and stared up at the ceiling.

"I hated Leave-It-To-Beaver," she said. "And Father Knows Best. Oh, and The Donna Reed Show. Give me a break."

House stared at her as if she'd lost her mind.

"Even worse," she continued. "Ozzie & Harriet."

"I'm not sure how we segued into 1950s pop-culture," House said. "But I'll take Double Jeopardy, Alex."

"Very funny," she sighed. "I'm talking about my dreams."

"Cuddy," House said in a patient tone. "You're a light weight. You'll never become a drug addict. You could never pull it off."

"It's not the drugs," she insisted. "I'm making a point."

House made an exaggerated effort to focus and Cuddy pretended to pout before trying again.

"I had these dreams where we were this perfect 1950s couple, except there was a bit of a feminist twist since I was still a successful working mom…"

"Of course."

"And then there was one where you were like Fred Astaire with a cane and limp, but with all the charm of the song and dance…"

"Of course."

"These are visions of what people commonly think is romantic, and perfect in relationships."

She looked at him expectantly.

"Okaaay." This time he was less taunting. She knew he was starting to follow her train of thought.

"These visions have no appeal to me at all," she said. "But you know what made them palatable?"

He quirked his brow, clearly curious.

"You. You made the dreams meaningful," she said. "You were always a mocking presence, the dark and irreverent character that put a spotlight on how ridiculous and boring these ideas of romance can be."

His hand had stopped moving and now cupped her breast as he studied her. Cuddy ran her fingers along his forearm as she thought about it.

_I'm the most screwed up person in the world._

House had his faults. He was definitely screwed up in many ways. But he was real. He came into the relationship with a truth and authenticity she'd avoided from the beginning.

"I'm sorry I made you feel like you were never doing enough," she said. "You're not the problem. I'm the one who needs to do better."

House moved his hand from beneath the shirt and shifted so he was partially on top of her, his leg wedged between hers and his hip pressed into her side. He pushed the hair off her forehead and traced a line along her temple, down her cheek and to her jaw. He looked at her with a reverence that took her breath away.

"I love you."

She felt the warmth surround her and smiled. Words may not matter, but they were really good to hear sometimes.

"I know," she said, kissing his fingers as they slid along her lips.

He leaned into her and kissed her cheek, her eyelids, her nose, and finally her lips in a feather soft kiss. Cuddy sighed, and pulled closer into his embrace.

"I knew I'd let you down," his voice was soft and uncertain. "I tried to convince myself I'd made a noble gesture and sacrificed my sobriety in the name of love."

His face was burrowed into her neck. "If it had been that noble, I would have gone through the proper channels and asked for the right prescription."

His voice was muffled, but she heard him. She understood.

House seemed to relax when Cuddy's hands ran through his hair and over his shoulder, undeterred by his admission.

"I waited in the OR galley, but I didn't really watch," he continued. "I knew what they were going to find."

"You were alone?"

_Surely Wilson waited with him._

"Yeah."

_Damn. _

Cuddy hugged him to her, instinctively reassuring him that he wasn't alone any longer. The air was charged, and she sensed he was searching for the right path through the emotional land mine. This wasn't easy for him. She knew that. So she waited, silently assuring him with the comfort of her touch.

"You were going to die," he finally said. "And your last days would be with a guy who was too selfish to be there for you…a guy who was too weak to…"

He tried to pull away when he felt the self-contempt churning in his gut again. Cuddy held him tight.

"Stay with me," she encouraged him.

_Stay with me._

It had been his mantra throughout the procedure.

"I couldn't deal with the thought of losing you," he said. "We'd only just … We..."

He took a deep breath. "I didn't want to be miserable again."

"Oh, House."

"You were facing death, and I was worried about how to be happy."

He did pull away then, but stayed by her side, his arm draped over her waist as he faced her on the bed.

"You're being too hard on yourself."

"Am I?" he asked. "I'd missed the signs you were sick, I couldn't save you, and I couldn't think of anyone but myself when you were dying. I couldn't get much lower than that."

"But I wasn't dying," she said. "I'm okay."

He stared at her, relieved.

Cuddy watched him in the silence that followed. Thinking about what he'd been feeling, how she'd feel if the roles had been reversed; she saw no logical reason for his shame. But it wasn't about logic or reason. It was about raw fear and blinding emotional pain. It was about ghosts from the past and the demons of addiction that appear when you're too weak to fight them. It was about loneliness and the chain of solitude that can hold you captive in the dungeons of despair.

"Did you think I'd leave you because you'd taken a pill?"

Had she made him feel so uncertain of her commitment?

_It's up to you if you want to go back on drugs._

House remembered her words and the awe he'd felt when he realized she wanted to be with him no matter what. He hadn't thought about it at the time. He hadn't thought about much of anything except his failure and the need to get as far away from her as he could for her own good.

"I don't know," he said, a frown marring his face.

His mind was racing, sorting through memories and data, while hers was drifting, being lulled into sleep in spite of her desire to stay awake.

"I realized when I left you, I was in trouble," he admitted. "I was punishing myself…kicking myself when I was already down."

_What have you screwed up?_

He'd remembered his last session with Nolan, when he'd uncovered House's tendency to provoke a fight when he believed he'd done something wrong.

"I didn't need to pick a bar fight this time," House said. "I'd just dealt myself the most lethal blow of all. That's when I called Nolan."

"And he came." She liked Nolan.

"I can't wait to see the bill."

She was too tired to chuckle. She couldn't keep her eyes open any longer.

"Go to sleep," House whispered, pulling her into his harms again.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I want to talk. I want to be here for you."

"You are."

She felt him kiss her head just before she lost all consciousness.

#######

"You're awake."

Cuddy smiled as House placed the tray on the bed beside her and leaned down for a kiss.

"I heard you humming."

He only hummed after sex.

"I made breakfast," he pointed to the tray. "Cinnamon Oatmeal pancakes."

"And what'd I do to deserve this?"

She'd fallen asleep last night after he'd talked about calling Nolan, too exhausted to keep her eyes open, much less continue talking…or anything else.

"Doctor says the more rest you get; the faster you'll be back to your normal sex-starved self."

"Yeah?" She chuckled. "What doctor said that?"

"The one who wants to have sex with you as soon as you're better."

"Dr. Shultz is a pediatrician," she sassed. "What does he know about my condition?"

"I was talking about Pearson," he quickly replied. "She's been eyeing your cleavage for months."

Cuddy laughed out loud.

"You're sick."

"I'm happy."

Cuddy gasped. It wasn't just that he felt it, but that he was so willing to admit it that left her breathless.

House joined her on the bed, careful to keep the tray steady as he settled in beside her.

"You didn't sleep," she said, noticing the dark circles beneath his eyes.

"I watched you sleep."

He placed a napkin over her chest and turned to pour syrup on the pancakes.

"House…"

"I'm okay," he interrupted.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing."

And nothing was wrong. During the night, he'd found something he thought was unattainable: Peace. It wasn't that everything was perfect. He knew he had a lot of work to do. He had to deal with what had happened, and why it had happened. He needed to break the patterns and not just talk about doing better. He needed to BE better.

He also needed to help Cuddy through this recovery process, not just the physical, but the emotional. She'd faced the fear of death. That changed a person. It changed perspectives and priorities. For her, it had reinforced her commitment to him, a gift for which he couldn't be more grateful. Even if he didn't deserve it.

He turned to face her, bringing the fork to her lips to feed her.

She wouldn't open her mouth. She just stared at him, searching his expression for clues and answers.

House sighed, slumping slightly as he gazed at her in dramatic tolerance.

"I'm okay," he assured.

"Okay never means okay."

He rolled his eyes.

"Fine," he said. "It's raining, which means my leg is hurting more than usual. I'm recovering from a relapse and I'm a total screw up that's doomed to endure psychotherapy for the rest of my miserable existence, which by the way, you're now required to attend occasionally as well. I'm pretty sure you're going to make us have regular heart-to-hearts about guilt and shame and the daddy issues that have left bigger scars than the one on my leg, this is worse than Chinese water torture. But I've got the hottest woman alive in my bed and I'm hoping to drop some syrup down her cleavage and at least get a little oral action in until she's up for the full Monty, so really…I'm okay. I'm good."

There was something different about him. It was as if the battle within him had subsided and he'd come to some kind of temporary ceasefire during the night.

She stared at him, considering all he'd just said.

_Brutally honest. Open. Irreverent. Vulnerable. Horny. _

He was better than okay. He was just better.

_We're going to make it._

Cuddy grinned and pulled the t-shirt over her head, turning slightly to toss it on the floor.

"Skip the pancakes," she quipped and picked up the syrup.

His eyes widened as he watched the liquid drizzle down her chest.

"We're having the breakfast of champions."

THE END


End file.
